The Reason
by SaintAugustana
Summary: Gibbs never explained, exactly, why nobody was ever allowed to touch his father's gun. One-shot tag to Heartland. Warning: spanking/corporal punishment.


Outside of Jackson Gibbs' general store, he, his son, and his son's team conversed about the case.

Inside, Joey completed labeling of the canned vegetables and nicked a broom from the corner, sweeping circles around the shelves.

15 minutes later she was finished with her second chore and Gibbs still wasn't done talking. Tucking her hands into her pockets, Joey leaned back against the counter and sighed. Silence. She looked up a moment. Creeping around the counter she scrambled up to the windowsill, and seeing Gibbs back turned, refocused her attention on the forbidden item hanging a few feet to her right.

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Lifting the rifle gingerly up and down to test its weight, Joey took note of the safety firing latch near the trigger and, satisfied it was secure, took hypothetical aim at a can of beans on the windowsill, with absolutely no intention of _pulling _the trigger, even if the safety latch _was_ in place. She just wanted to see what was so fantastic about the Winchester shotgun – what got Gibbs so riled about it, and why did Grandpa Jack keep it up on such a high shelf?

Even so, she was fully aware she was _not_ supposed to be doing what she was currently doing.

Holding it steady for a moment she ran a sweaty palm down the steel blue barrel.

And then, as if expecting something excited to happen, she paused for a moment. A few seconds later, a sigh of disappointment.

_It's not so great. What's the big flippin' deal about this thing?_

Tossing one last crushed look down at the trigger, Joey relaxed her shoulders. _Oh, well. Gibbs'd kill me, anyway._

Shrugging, she pulled her hand back towards the lower barrel, tapping the trigger anxiously with her finger before pushing it back up the barrel.

It brushed over the safety latch.

**BANG!**

The apparatus jolted, sending Joey sprawled backwards on the floor, ducking frantically for the other side of the counter.

The small glass window shattered, the can of beans exploded. Shouts from outside.

"NCIS!"

McGee, Tony, Ziva, and Gibbs came blasting through the door, sig sauers at the ready, tailed by Jack, who had recognized the sound of his precious weapon misfiring. Reading the look on Joey's face was all Gibbs needed to do before realizing what she had done, and in less than five seconds his weapon was lowered, followed suit by the weapons of his team members.

Breath heavy, Joey quickly got to her feet, backing away from Jack as he passed to pick up the Winchester.

She didn't take her shocked green eyes off of Gibbs.

The adrenaline blast from the shot had her blood rushing, and she was frightened.

She continued to back away as she sputtered out words of explanation, but it was so close to gibberish and Gibbs was already hellbent on consequences...

He'd never been so angry, so in awe of any stupid thing Joey had ever done, and she'd done some pretty stupid things.

This one took the cake.

"There was a REASON NO ONE EVER TOUCHED THAT GUN, JOEY," he bellowed, sliding his pistol onto the countertop as he stepped forward.

"Gibbs, I-I didn't think it would go off!" She stumbled. He wasn't having it. He was furious.

She'd never seen him so outraged.

Gibbs advanced and took grip of his goddaughter's upper left arm, leading her into the storeroom, down the hall and around back, the rest of the team left in the dust and debris of her predicament.

He wasted no time. Shoving her into the room ahead of him, he closed the door and kicked a wooden crate into the center of the room. Taking a seat, he reached out to grab her again, but she dodged him and backed into the wall opposite.

"Get over here, Joey, _now._" He ground out, pointing at the spot beside him on the floor.

She hesitated, then shook her head.

He raised one eyebrow in her direction and leaned forward. "Trust me, Jo, it doesn't matter how much trouble you're in – I can _always_ make it worse for you."

The twelve-year-old thought deeply for a moment and hung her head.

"The safety latch was on, Gibbs," she began to cry, much to her dismay, and she had to choke back tears to continue. "I _swear_ it was on...I, s-swear...I didn't think it would fire..."

"Did you put your finger on the trigger?"

A pause. She rubbed at her eyes with a dirty sleeve.

"_Michaela Joanne Grey._ DID you PUT your FINGER on the TRIGGER?"

Joey cringed and whimpered softly, "yes, sir."

By this point, Gibbs was ready to be done with this ordeal. Standing, he came forth and gripped her (gently this time) by the arm, pulling her around and over his knees.

Normally he spared her the embarrassment of having to remove her trousers, but he wanted to drive this message home. Pulling on the waistband of her shorts he yanked them down to her lower legs, leaving the thin underwear for little protection. For her part, she did little to fight him.

Gibbs smacked her hard across the backside, causing her to yelp loudly and cry harder.

_**SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. **_

_**SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. **_

_**SMACK. "**_O-ow!" _**SMACK. **_"Gibbs, please! I promise..." _**SMACK. **__"_I-ow! I won't do it again!"

"Hush up. I'm not through yet." He ordered. This was no-nonsense. There would be a time for comfort later.

_**SMACK. SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.**_

Gibbs kept the swats coming for another dozen or so, hard and fast.

It took the kid a few seconds to register it was over. Joey sobbed over his lap, refusing to relinquish her vicegrip on his left leg.

"M'sorry," she mumbled through the salty deluge. "I'm so s-sorry..."

Punishment over, Gibbs' wall of sternness was breached and his love and concern for his child took over. Reaching his hands beneath her arms he lifted her up and placed her on his lap, where she curled up into a fetal position, gripping his shirt as if afraid he'd disappear if she let go. He hugged her close, resting his chin on her head, silent for the next few minutes as she cried out the rest of her ordeal.

Presently, a sweaty hand snaked up to scrub away salty tears, a hand Gibbs pushed back down to Joey's lap and replaced with his own, using his thumb to carefully wipe away the wetness on her face.

"Jo, the safety latch on Grandpa's Winchester hasn't worked for nearly fifty years. He never allowed me to touch it because there was no way to keep it from firing."

She looked up at him and something in her head clicked when their gazes locked. _I had no idea. Stupid!_

"It's sensitive. Incredibly."

"I-" she sniffed back a stray sob, "I didn't know."

"That's plenty obvious."

Joey used her shirt sleeve to suppress the stray smile that crept across her face.

"Look, Jo," Gibbs started, pondering his words for a moment. "You've got to get it through that thick head of yours that when I tell you to do something, you do it, no questions asked. In the heat of the moment - maybe in the future sometime - I won't have time to explain to you the _reason_ for everything. I need your obedience, or the last few years of your childhood will be very unpleasant for you."

She nodded, in full understanding. She'd never looked at it that way before.

"Like you taught Tony and M-McGee and Ziva to anticipate." She stated softly and plainly, almost musing, as if she weren't speaking to him, but to herself.

"Mmmhmm."


End file.
